July 12, 2017:

Golf club. Eiffel Tower painted green. My friend who's dead; his little son who isn't.

Myself with ghetto cap and quart of Jack. Arm around my friend who changed. She was a different person then.

The girl I now believe should have been a candidate. Shiny skin, thick Italian hair, beautiful, brilliant. Estrogen bomb. But that's all long ago gone.